O So Morose

I'll probably recycle this title for later use.

The heaving in my chest,

the angry sound from my breathes,

the mass constriction of my blood vessels,

hypertension at its best.

Now my intentions are ill-formed,

my thought's core transformed to harm,

gripping calluses in my hand,

I didn't do my best to warn.

Plan of action to make haste,

Toward you was the priority,

till I saw you, the adulterer.

Now my feet are stuck in place.

There was once a sliver,

no I would dare to say a chunk,

of my brain that composed thoughts,

light portraying instead of dark.

But now as I grow old,

and daring to be more outspoken,

trapping all my well-intentions,

into a box my thoughts have broken.

The End.

Author's Note

give me everything you got. I joined this site to better myself, so please help with that.